rpgfandomcom-20200222-history
Adebola Journal 9
Valkris could barely make out Karmichael's words, as he stood gazing out the huge window overlooking the city: "...I looked and there before me was a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death..." It sounded familiar, eerily familiar. For a moment, memory failed her and then she realized: it was from some Star Trek episode; Karmichael must be a fan too! She imagined him joining her friends, Duante and Shen, for Star Trek night. He could bring that disgusting popcorn stuff that Duante loved, something even her digestive expansion couldn't make palatable, the husks wrapping themselves around her fangs like they meant to grow into her gums. Bleah. Karmichael turned to gaze at the team. Valkris straightened; she'd ask him after they finished up payment and received his gratitude for another job well done. She lowered her eyes modesty, a grin tugging at her lips, already thinking about spending the nuyen on upgrading her car. Duante had some great armor just waiting to be used. "Do you believe in striving for prosperity, that the ends justify the means? Look outside; in the streets, there are riots, fires out of control; the people live in hovels, scraping out the barest existence, while companies come through and take almost everything worth taking, and the council and kings divide the rest. Nigeria is a festering disease on Africa..." Valkris wanted to shut her ears, but his voice compelled her, drew before her inner eyes a vision of her past: the streets strewn with garbage, the stink of summer and the rot of bodies left to be devoured by the endless mouths of the rats and birds and feral dogs. Or collected to be sold and swallowed by the gaping throats of ghouls. Fighting with other children for the tiniest scrap of food, knowing that the smallest appearance of weakness would mean death. Of course he was right; of course the infection had to be burned out. No more children starving to death around her, no more gang wars and brutality and people living like animals squabbling over the tiniest scrap of dignity. Maybe the world she'd always dreamed about, the world of shining star ships and curiosity and high adventure would rise from the ashes. But other memories: meeting Duante and gaining his respect, her first repaired drone fluttering frantically before crashing, finding treasures both little and large in the trash dumped by society. Karmichael's society. Karmichael didn't know the half of it, in his clean, sweet-smelling offices. Had he ever been hungry? Had he ever drunk water that was almost worse than thirst? Had he ever been weakened so by starvation that he tried to gnaw the mould from rotting wood, that the glint of candy bar wrappers shone more surely than gold itself? Yes, let clean white men call Lagos a disease. They'd come before, she'd heard, to take what they wanted, to teach the "primitive people" of Africa the right way to live. Karmichael was just one more of the same. Duante and her team, well they were different. They might be white and foreign, but to her, they were no longer oyibo, white people to be cheated, but enikeji, trusted friends and companions. And what white man, living in the rarefied air of Victoria Island, could ever know Lagos? The voices of women singing while they did laundry, the laughter of children celebrating during the Muslim festival of Eid ul-Fitr with full bellies for the first time in months, the first rain of the year beating the dust into submission and washing the streets clean again. Valkris turned away in disgust and almost spat on his clean carpet. Her fangs ached, and when Karmichael asked the team to join him in the apocalypse he'd brought down, she could hardly contain her disgust. As each member of her team rejected him, her courage grew. When Karmichael turned to her, his eyes questioning, she rejected him as forcefully as she could, quoting Spock's dying words: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few... or the one. Karmichael gazed at her for a moment longer, looking confused, and then said in a deep voice that froze her in her steps: "Don't move." He turned away, popped open a hidden door and strode through it, saying "kill them" as he vanished. Valkris's fangs ached. A hooded figure waiting nearby threw off his robes. His body, naked under it, twisted in form, and he became a raging lion. The battle which followed was a blur, her companions falling around her. First Dr. Pie and she could only spare an instant to wonder if he was dead or astrally projecting. She heard Chloe curse beside her, struggling with her rifle, and Captain Raptor fighting frantically with the lion, parrying his claws with astonishing skill. Her own knife caught swept past the lion's fur again and again. Suddenly both Chloe and the Captain collapsed. Magic, she thought and remembered her amulet. One spirit left, but if it could save the team... She activated it, and a translucent girl hovered before her. She couldn't imagine how Dr. Pie could ever look on these things as normal. "Save us!" Valkris gasped, and the spirit raised its ghostly arms. Nearby, a being of flame, barely glimpsed, rained fire on the lion just as Valkris's knife finally struck home. But the next instant, a shock ran through her body, and she fell, chanting "choquvmoH!" (you honor me!) her last thoughts on Sto-Vo-Kor, the reward for a courageous death. When she clawed her way back to awareness, she wished she hadn't. Nobody said Sto-Vo-Kor was supposed to hurt this much. She could swear her hair ached. Soon, she thought, she'd see Kahless and join the feast of the valiant dead. Instead, a deep voice growled, "I will never run from a fight. If they want one, I'll give it to them." A woman hissed, "Quiet! They are coming around." The first sight that met her blurry eyes was the lion shapeshifter, back in his human form, glaring fiercely at her. She snarled back, but her fingers refused to clutch her knife; she was as weak as dead gagh. He'd stolen her death from her and he'd pay. Once she found her knife and her strength, he'd know a Klingon warrior was not to be trifled with, not to be shown the weakness of mercy. As she staggered home, slapping away the help their rescuers offered, she vowed vengeance. Picard, his dark eyes fierce, raged in her mind, on the edge of madness: Not again. Not this time. The line must be drawn here! This far, no farther! And I will make them pay for what they have done! But Spock rasped, dying: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few... Yewande joined him, like a chorus: ...we sometimes must do things that we aren't prepared for, that any woman, any person rather, sometimes faces expectations that nobody should face... Her revenge could wait until after they saved her city. Let Asukile believe her meek and helpful like the rest of her team. He's know the truth, when her bat'leth sank into his neck, or his claws disemboweled her.